


Is it me you're looking for?

by BecauseImClassy



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Phone Calls & Telephones, Wrong Number AU, lots of talking, meet ugly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 19:36:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7587175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BecauseImClassy/pseuds/BecauseImClassy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karen Page is a bored secretary who hates her job. But one day she accidentally calls a complete stranger and asks him for advice, and things start to get interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is it me you're looking for?

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first AU I've ever done, and it has a lot of familiar elements from canon. But there's no Wilson Fisk this time, and Union Allied is an ordinary real-estate developer, not a criminal organization. Although they are still kind of shady. And Karen has an actual life of her own, with friends and stuff.
> 
> Content warning: ableism. Karen says some insensitive things in the first section, which she immediately gets called out for, and feels awful about once she takes a minute to think.
> 
> The title is from Lionel Richie's "Hello." I am not proud of that fact, but I couldn't think of anything better.

Karen needs advice. What she’s considering doing is highly unprofessional, but that isn’t why she’s hesitating. It’s unlikely that this could get her fired. She’s a very good secretary, despite that fact that it bores her to tears. Bores her so much, in fact, that a bit of heavy-handed flirting from a colleague in accounting has started to seem like an excellent way to break the tedium. The man is gorgeous, not her boss, and just now when he passed her desk he had made a very specific suggestion…

Karen needs to talk to her best friend, now. She considers her options. The company forbids making personal calls while on the clock, a policy mostly enforced by disciplining anyone caught by the ubiquitous security cameras using a cell phone. If she calls on her desk phone, the phone will log the number she calls. But, she reasons, no one will ever bother to check the log as long as she doesn’t do anything that looks suspicious. She reaches for the phone. It’s been a while since she needed to actually dial Trish’s number from memory, but of course she knows it. Trish is her best friend.

As soon as the call is picked up, Karen starts talking, without even waiting for Trish to say hello.

“You’ve had sex on top of a photocopier. Is it as uncomfortable as it sounds?”

Silence.

“Come on, Trish, you know I know about that, you told me about it months ago, remember? Anyway, Jim from accounting, the hot one, just asked me to meet him in the supply closet in half an hour. And I’m _so bored_. But am I sex-on-a-photocopier bored? I need to know if it’s going to be worth it, Trish. You’ve got to help me out here. Be honest with me, how uncomfortable is it?”

“That’s…a little outside of my area of expertise,” answers a voice that is male, and utterly unfamiliar, and sounds very much like he’s trying not to laugh. Karen freezes in horrified shock. “I have to say, though, it sounds _very_ uncomfortable. Also, I’m not Trish, so either this is a very elaborate prank, or you’ve dialed a wrong number.”

“Oh my god,” she says faintly, her entire body flushing with embarrassment. But a moment later her sense of humor reasserts itself and she starts to laugh, albeit a little hysterically.

“I am so sorry,” she tells him. “I’m on my desk phone, I had to dial from memory. Oh my god.”

“If you want advice,” he continues, “affairs with coworkers are rarely a good idea, completely aside from the photocopier. Is it worth the drama? I assume you’re not already in a relationship with him, or you wouldn’t have to tell your friend that he’s the hot one from accounting.” He sounds amused still, and a little disapproving. And, now that she’s recovering from her shock enough to notice, he has a very nice voice. A sexy voice, in fact.

“No, I’m not,” she answers, “Nor do I particularly want to be. But he _is_ hot, and I _am_ bored, and if we both want a bit of fun, where’s the harm?”

“I couldn’t say, since I don’t know your particular workplace. Are there a lot of people? Is he the sort of man that brags about his conquests? If gossip starts to circulate, could that damage you professionally? Or are you assuming that no one would find out?”

Damn. She _had_ been assuming that, actually.

“He’s probably discreet,” she says, but she sounds doubtful, even to herself. “I mean, I haven’t heard any gossip about him before now, and I can’t believe I’m the first one he’s propositioned.”

“Maybe no one’s ever said yes.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Guys who always get turned down don’t have his kind of confidence. It’s really hard to fake, you know? The expression, the body language. An unsuccessful guy can try to put it on, but you can just _see_ his anxiety showing around the edges.”

“You’re saying you can tell, just by looking at this guy, that he gets laid a lot?”

“Well. When you put it that way, it sounds silly. But kind of, yeah. You must know what I’m talking about, you must have seen guys like him for yourself.”

“Can’t say that I have,” he says drily.

“God, open your eyes. It amazes me the things men don’t notice about other men.”

Silence.

“I guess I don’t know for sure that Jim’s discreet,” she concedes, getting back to the matter at hand. Possibly-very-uncomfortable sex with someone who might blab it all over the office is sounding distinctly less appealing than it was a few minutes ago.

“Damn,” she sighs. “I know you’re probably right, but this is disappointing. Going back to just looking is going to be frustrating, now that I’ve been thinking about touching, you know?”

“Not exactly,” he says, and he really doesn’t sound amused any more. Is he judging her?

“Oh, don’t try to tell me you don’t look,” she says challengingly. “Everybody looks, so what?”

“Not everybody,” he answers. There’s definitely tension in his voice now. Is he one of those assholes who thinks sex is shameful?

“Yeah, okay, you keep telling yourself that, buddy. Just because you won’t admit it—“

“I’m blind,” he snaps.

Oh. _Oh._ Shit.

Karen feels embarrassed all over again, and defensive. “I’m sorry, but there’s no way I could have known that.”

“No, of course not,” he replies, clipped and sarcastic. “You just assumed I could see. Because _everyone_ can see. Everyone who _matters,_ anyway.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, you self-righteous—“ She realizes the line has gone dead. He hung up on her. _Shit._

She slams the phone down and stares at it, fuming. She briefly considers calling Trish (making damn sure she dials correctly this time) to vent, but finds she doesn’t really want to talk about it. In fact, thinking it over, she can’t help but suspect that _she_ was the asshole in that conversation, however she may try to deny it.

She tries to think about it dispassionately. Yes, she was making assumptions about the man with the sexy voice, and not just about whether or not he could see. And yes, her casual assertion that “everybody looks” really was dismissive, and not just of blind people. Not to mention her easy, condescending equating of “noticing” with “seeing”. Whether she’d intended to or not, she had implied that the blind didn’t exist, or that they didn’t count. _God, open your eyes._ She groans, mortified. She actually said that. To a blind man. What the hell is wrong with her?

She doesn’t go to meet Jim, having lost all enthusiasm for an illicit workplace hookup. She does her work on autopilot for the rest of the day, brooding.

———————————————

“Trish, am I shallow?”

It’s a few days later, and Karen is at Trish’s apartment for pizza night. They don’t always get pizza, but the name has stuck. Pizza night is for food and talk. Although tonight they do, in fact, have pizza.

Trish stares at her a moment, then shrugs. “Everyone’s shallow, at least on the surface. And most people never get to know each other beyond that surface, so.”

“But you know me better than that. Am I shallow beyond the surface?”

“Are you deeply shallow?” Trish grins, but Karen doesn’t grin back. “Okay, you’re serious. What’s this about?”

Karen frowns. She still doesn’t want to talk about the phone call, but she’s got to tell her something.

“I don’t know,” she says slowly. “A couple of different things happened at work the other day. Jim from accounting, the hot one?” Trish nods, her eyes lighting with interest. “He asked me to meet him in the supply closet, so he could fuck me on the photocopier.”

Trish’s eyes get big. “Oh, no. No no no. You didn’t do it, did you?” Karen shakes her head. “Good. I’m all for banging hot guys, but _not_ on a photocopier. You can’t do it with the lid closed if there’s a manual feed tray on top, and if you do it on the glass with the lid open he’ll photocopy your twat.”

Karen snorts and bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, you didn’t tell me that part!”

Trish shrugs. “Now you know. Do _not_.”

“Well, I didn’t. He’s hot, but he’s a dick, as it turns out. He wanted to know why I didn’t show up, and I said ‘Something came up,’ and he said, ‘Oh god, did your period start?’ like, really disgusted. And then he said, ‘Just get a damn IUD, then you won’t bleed at all, you can be fuckable any time.’ And he leered at me, like I should be just panting to climb on board, and grateful for his awesome advice.”

Trish makes a face. “Gross. I mean, not necessarily a deal-breaker, if you’re never going to see him again. But from a coworker, no. So not worth it.”

“Honestly, I wasn’t even that into him. That’s what bothers me about it now. He’s hot, he was there, and I was bored. Is that who I am, someone who fucks just for something to do?”

“You didn’t, though,” Trish points out. But she nearly had. If that damn phone call hadn’t happened….

She takes another piece of pizza. “And the same day, I insulted someone I didn’t even know. Not on purpose, I just said something stupid and thoughtless that seemed perfectly justifiable at the time, but it wasn’t. And I just…What’s happened to me, Trish? I didn’t used to be like this.”

Trish contemplates the pizza box thoughtfully. “Like what, exactly? What do you think you’re like, that it’s bothering you so much?”

“Shallow! Thoughtless! I used to have goals, and ambitions, and now I’m just aimless, and acting like…I feel like I’m turning into a cheap, plastic imitation of myself.” It’s painful to say it out loud, but at the same time it’s satisfying to finally identify what’s troubling her.

A plastic imitation. The man on the phone had probably thought she was a brainless idiot. Would be perfectly justified in thinking so, based on their brief conversation. And that hurts, after all the years she spent proving to her parents, her teachers, her peers, that a sharp intelligence lives inside her blonde, blue-eyed exterior. It hurts more than it probably should, given that he was just a random stranger she’ll never talk to again. But as Trish has quickly realized, it’s Karen’s opinion of herself that’s bothering her, more than anyone else’s opinion.

Trish sighs. “You’re not doing what you always wanted to do. Neither of us are.” She had dreamed of acting, as Karen had dreamed of journalism. But…shit happened. Mistakes were made, no point dwelling on it now. They each know the other’s past, and don’t judge. “Ambition’s great, but it’s not gonna pay the rent or put food on the table if no one will hire us. We had to compromise. We took tedious, unfulfilling jobs working for evil corporate overlords so we wouldn’t starve. And not starving? is _awesome._ But then I’m a cynical bastard, and you’re not. You hate compromise.”

“Always have,” Karen agrees.

“Plus, your personal life is a shambles.”

“Thanks,” she mutters.

“Well, it is. You wanted to fuck the hottie from accounting because you’ve gone without for too long, and you had something to prove. And you insulted a stranger because you probably didn’t really care what you said, because you were at work, at a job you hate. I don’t think you’re shallow, I think you’re fed up. Getting laid is a good idea, but not with some smug asshole who thinks he can tell you what kind of birth control to use. And definitely not on a photocopier.”

It’s solid advice, as far as it goes. But she still feels dissatisfied. Later on, at home, she thinks over Trish’s assessment. It’s true that she hasn’t had sex, committed or casual, in longer than she’d like. Flirting with Jim had definitely been an attempt to validate her own attractiveness, to prove that she could bag someone hot if she chose.

And honestly, that embarrassing mis-dialed phone conversation had been at least partly driven by the same need, hadn’t it? The initial overshare had been a legitimate mistake, but then she’d stayed on the line, and kept on talking about sex. She was trying to impress the guy with her lack of inhibitions, proud of the fact that she looks at men unashamedly, that she would consider a casual hookup at her workplace. Maybe trying to shock him a little, once she started to suspect he disapproved.

All things considered, if she’s going to try and impress complete strangers, there are probably better ways to do it.

———————————————

Over the next few weeks, her job at Union Allied Construction is mostly uneventful. Management hands down a new training mandate that all employees must complete a certain number of hours of Self-Directed Achievement. This apparently means “Teach yourself some new skills to make yourself more useful to the company, at no cost to the company, for which the company will not pay you any more than you make now.” Karen tries to look on the bright side—they can do it during their normal, otherwise boring, working hours. And with a few more skills in her arsenal, maybe she can get a better, less tedious job some day.

Jim from accounting never asks why she’s lost interest in him, or indeed ever acknowledges that she has. He ignores her completely for several days, until the period he presumes she’s on has presumably run its course; spends a couple of weeks flirting heavily and unsubtly whenever he sees her (not often, fortunately), then gets interested in someone else and forgets about her. Karen, all too familiar with the dance of “pester someone for reasons so you can argue and try to talk them out of those reasons”, is relieved. Messy personal conflict in the workplace: avoided.

The following month a number of further edicts are delivered from management. Reminders that violations of the dress code will not be tolerated. Reminders that personal phone calls on work time will not be tolerated. Reminders of where employees are and are not allowed to park (collective eye roll from the secretaries, none of whom have cars).

“Why are they wasting our time with this bullshit?” Karen wonders, after the reminder that theft of office supplies will not be tolerated.

Darcy, who she’s eating lunch with, looks knowledgeable but says nothing. Karen raises her eyebrows, knowing that Darcy needs very little encouragement to tell what she knows—she’s an unparalleled source for gossip, most of it accurate.

“Power play,” says Darcy confidentially. “It’s all coming from Brinkley. He’s got domestic trouble, so he’s bossing us around so he can feel like he’s in control.”

“Domestic trouble?”

“He’s wife’s having an affair. I don’t know who with.“ Darcy frowns at this unacceptable gap in her knowledge. “Brinkley doesn’t know either. Not yet, anyway.”

Karen doesn’t bother asking how Darcy knows. You might as well ask the sky why it’s blue—it’s just the nature of things. Darcy always knows.

“Well, it’s a pain. I think I’ll engage in some petty disobedience after lunch and call Trish.”

“Oooh, you rebel. Don’t get caught.”

“Desk phone, not my cell, don’t worry.”

Back at her desk, she dials the number and, when it’s picked up, announces, “The overlords are restless, Trish. Trouble in paradise. Breathing down our necks with a lot of stupid, pointless rules, one of which I’m breaking right this minute as an act of protest.”

Silence. Unexpected, since Trish can always be relied on for a snarky comment.

“Trish…? Trish, are you there?” she asks impatiently.

“Uh…no.” a man answers.

Karen stares at the phone in disbelief. _Again?_

“FUCK,” she exclaims, but it comes out louder than expected in the quiet room, and she hisses “Shit!” and looks around anxiously. “Fuck, shit, god fucking dammit!” she continues more quietly, exasperated and embarrassed.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” he inquires.

“I don’t kiss my mother at all,” she snaps. But his voice rings a bell of familiarity, even weeks later. “Is this…Did I just mis-dial a completely different random stranger, or is this the blind guy again?”

“It’s the blind guy,” he confirms drily. Of course it is.

“I’m sorry about last time, I really am,” she tells him. “Honestly, I felt terrible about it afterward, I was an asshole. But the fact that you’re blind is literally the only thing I know about you that I could identify you by. Except the sound of your voice. Is that you, Sexy Voice?”

“Sexy Voice?” he repeats, surprised, and bursts out laughing. His laugh sounds just as good as his speaking voice, and it’s gratifying to know that she can make him laugh as well as piss him off.

“Well, yeah,” she says, smiling. “Given what you know about me, I don’t think I want to know which embarrassing fact you’d identify me by.”

“Oh, I knew your voice,” he answers. “I’m good at recognizing voices, I kind of have to be. And I wasn’t—“ he breaks off, then speaks again, slightly muffled. “I’m on the phone, Foggy.” A second voice, indistinct in the background, and then, “No, personal.” Then he’s speaking to her again, saying, “Sorry about that.”

“Foggy?” she asks, wondering if she heard correctly.

“It’s a nickname. We’ve been friends since college. He’s my partner—business partner,” he clarifies.

“You have a business partner? You have your own business?” Karen hadn’t thought she could feel any more embarrassed about the circumstances of their acquaintance, but apparently she can. “I’m just a secretary. I had no idea I was oversharing to, and then insulting, someone so far above my pay grade.”

“I’m really not,” he says self-deprecatingly. “We’re very small, and very new at this. If your boss has actual clients and makes actual money, then _you’re_ above _my_ pay grade.” She hadn’t been referring to their actual relative incomes, but it’s nice to know he doesn’t think a secretary is inferior to him. “When I told Foggy I was on the phone just now, he was hoping it was a client.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m actually glad to talk to you again.”

“Why?” she asks, astonished. “You must have thought I was a complete jerk.”

“Neither one of us were at our best,” he says tactfully. “I was having a particularly bad day, and I took it out on you. I’ve heard plenty worse than what you said. I wouldn’t normally go off like that on plain old thoughtless—“ he breaks off.

“Thoughtless ableism? Yeah, it was. And then I got defensive when you called me out. I was pretty awful.”

“Well, I wasn’t proud of myself either. I’m glad to talk to you again because I think we’re both better people than first impressions indicated.”

“That’s kind of you, thank you. I’d like to think I’m better than that. I work for evil overlords—that’s my joke with Trish, we both have office jobs we hate—and it’s not what I wanted to do at all, but it’s the only kind of work I could get. So I haven’t been my best self lately. Being forced to compromise brings out the worst in me, I think.”

“I’m the same. Foggy and I interned with evil overlords, and I wasn’t happy at all.”

“And were you a rude asshole?”

“That depends who you ask. I’m sure I had my moments. What did you want to be, if not a secretary? If you don’t mind my asking?” He really does have a nice voice. Sexy, but also sincere. Interested.

She smiles. “I was going to be an investigative journalist. Drag hidden wrongs into the light of day and tell the world. Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable, although that quote is _always_ taken out of its original context.”

“That’s great. You’re an idealist?”

“Well. I guess I used to be. I haven’t felt much like one lately.”

“It still counts. Don’t give up, I keep telling Foggy we can’t be the only idealists in this city.” His approval is unexpectedly warming, and she realizes that having a cynic for a best friend might have some drawbacks. Much as she loves Trish, there’s not an idealistic bone in her body.

“And what happened?” he asks.

“Oh, well. Life happened. I couldn’t find work. Turns out, being smart, and talented, and determined isn’t enough, despite what I was always told.” True, although it’s not the whole truth. But she’s not about to tell him all her secrets, no matter how sexy his voice is. “My business training was secondary, you know? A safety net I didn’t expect to ever need to use. But here I am.”

“And do you—hang on, sorry.” He speaks aside again, this time too muffled for her to make out. Then he’s back. “I’m sorry, I have to go. Someone’s here.” There’s a note of suppressed excitement in his voice.

“A client?”

“God, I hope so.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger. Good luck!”

He laughs. “Thanks.” And then he’s gone.

She looks thoughtfully at the phone on her desk, and brings up the outgoing call log. His phone number is one digit off from Trish’s. After their first conversation, she never wanted to talk to him again. Now, she does. Would it be weird, to call him on purpose some time? She makes a note of his number, and enters it into her cell phone later.

**New contact: Name: Sexy Voice**

———————————————

Just a few days later, at work, she sees him. She’s near the main entrance, getting coffee, when she hears a now-familiar voice behind her.

“—know as well as I do, Foggy, that what’s legal isn’t always what’s right.” 

She turns, and sees two men about her own age heading for the door. One is slim and brunet, the other plump and blond. The brunet is speaking, tapping the floor in front of him angrily with a cane as he strides toward the exit, his eyes hidden by dark glasses. Karen stares at him, partly from shock, partly because he’s gorgeous. The blond is good-looking, too, with longish hair and a flashy taste in neckties. They both look upset as they walk past, not ten feet away from Karen.

“The laws are written to benefit the developers and screw over the tenants, it’s nothing but—“

The door closes behind them. That quickly, her mysterious wrong number has walked into her life and back out of it again, without ever knowing she was there.

She lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, and looks around. Most of the people nearby never even glanced up, but Darcy is looking at the door with evident interest. Karen catches her eye.

“They didn’t look happy,” she says casually.

“Lawyers,” says Darcy, shaking her head. “Little baby lawyers, brand new firm. No one’s ever heard of them. Olson and something. Hancock? Olson and Hancock? Something like that. There’s an apartment building in Hell’s Kitchen, rent controlled, that we’re going to develop. Some of the tenants don’t want to move out.”

Karen knows what “develop” means—tear it down and build something else in its place, that Union Allied can sell for a tidy profit. The current tenants will have been offered money as compensation, but if Karen could manage to find a place with rent control, she wouldn’t want to leave either.

“They actually hired lawyers?”

“And the lawyers actually took the case. They should know better than to take this place on, either they’re idealistic idiots or they’re desperate for clients. I’m surprised they even got a meeting here, they should have been passed off to our lawyers.”

“Who did they meet with?”

“Thompson, I think.”

“Well. There you go then. She’d meet with them personally, if she wanted to make a point.”

“Hmmm. You’re right, she does love to put do-gooders in their place.” Darcy looks at her shrewdly. “Karen, is that dreamy look on your face for the rent-controlled apartments, or the hot baby lawyers?”

Karen grins at her. “Can’t it be both?”

Darcy grins back. “I wouldn’t mind an armful of that blond. Only, I don’t know if I can date a man whose hair looks better than mine.”

Karen laughs—it’s a relief, somehow, that Darcy’s interested in the blond and not the brunet— and takes her coffee back to her desk. With a little effort, and some muttering over lax data security practices, she’s able to access Thompson’s appointment calendar from her computer.

**2:00 Nelson and Murdock**

———————————————

At home that evening, Karen’s still thinking about what she’s learned. _Do-gooders_ , Darcy had said, but Karen’s inclined to think that’s a good thing. Sexy Voice and Foggy (which one is Nelson, she wonders, and which is Murdock?) had interned with evil overlords—that must mean one of the big firms. But they hadn’t been happy there, and now they’re representing poor tenants against a wealthy developer. Idealists, like he said. Uncompromising. Karen finds that admirable.

But she’s feeling odd, almost guilty, over the fact that she knows who he is now, but he still doesn’t know who she is. They haven’t told each other their names, or where they work, or even what field they work in. Maybe he prefers it that way. Maybe he doesn’t care who she is. Maybe, now that their second conversation has cleared up the bad feeling left by the first, he considers their acquaintance closed.

And maybe she’s just looking for an excuse to call him again. But she can’t shake the feeling that it’s only fair to tell him who she is, and finally she picks up her phone and makes the call.

This time she waits, and lets him speak first.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Sexy Voice.”

“Hi, Bored Secretary.” He sounds surprised, and pleased. “Are you working late? My name’s Matt, by the way. Not that I don’t enjoy being called Sexy Voice, but if we’re going to keep doing this then it’s probably about time you knew my name.”

“Oh good, I was thinking that, too. My name’s Karen. And no, I’m not working late. I’m at home, I called you on my cell. On purpose, this time.”

“Right, you didn’t call me Trish, or start talking as soon as I picked up. What’s the occasion?”

“I saw you today.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, at work. It happened so fast there was no time to say anything. The staff coffee pot is right inside the main doors, and you and your partner walked right past me on your way out. You were talking, I recognized your voice, and you called him Foggy. It has to be you.”

Silence, for a long, long moment. Then:

“You work for Union Allied?” It’s said in the same clipped, biting tone she remembers from their first conversation, when he told her off, and her heart sinks.

“I do, yes. But, Matt—“

“Union Allied is trying to force my clients out of their homes,” he says sharply. “Do you know what they’re doing? The tactics they use? I can’t do anything to stop it, the laws are all on their side. And you work for them, you’re _helping_ them. I thought you were better than that, Karen.” The bitterness and condemnation in his voice cut like a knife.

“Matt, I—“

“That woman we met with today just wanted to rub our noses in it. She _gloated._ Is that what this is? More of the same?”

She hangs up on him, her hands shaking. She had known it wouldn’t be great news to him, under the circumstances, that she works for Union Allied. But she never expected him to blame her for their actions. She’d allowed herself to start thinking of him as a friend, and hoped he might think the same of her, but now—

Her phone rings.

 **Sexy Voice** , the screen informs her.

She’s tempted not to answer, but a flash of anger stiffens her spine. If he wants to fight, she can fight. She picks up.

“I _told_ you I work for evil overlords, I _told_ you I hate my job, what the hell do you want from me?” she starts in, hard and angry.

“Karen—“

“I _told_ you it was the only job I could get, do you even know what it’s like to be unemployed?”

“I’m sorry—“

“You’re a fucking lawyer, what do you know about being broke—“ she pauses, her brain catching up to her ears. “Wait. Did you just say you’re sorry?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. What I just did was inexcusable, please don’t hang up again. I’m sorry.”

“Oh. Uh.” His turnaround is so unexpected that she doesn’t know what to say.

“You did tell me all those things. You’re right. I have no right to blame you for your bosses’ decisions. I _don’t_ blame you, truly. I was caught off guard, not that that’s any excuse.” He really does sound sorry, and anxious. “I was thinking about the case when you called. Brooding really, and feeling useless. So when I realized you work for them…my temper got the better of me,” he finishes softly.

“I wasn’t calling to gloat, Matt. Even if I thought you were wrong—which I don’t—I would never.” Well. Not to anyone she liked, anyway.

“No, I know. I realized what an asshole I was being when you hung up on me. I was afraid you wouldn’t answer when I called back.”

“I decided I’d rather yell at you than hide from you. You’re not the only one with a temper.”

“Good. I deserved it.”

There’s a pause, neither of them knowing quite what to say next.

“I don’t actually know very much about the case,” Karen offers. “Just what I heard from office gossip. The tenants are making a legal challenge to the sale?”

Matt sighs. “Trying to, yeah. But I’m afraid we don’t have much of a case. It was one of the tenants who came to the office the other day, the last time you and I talked. Mrs. Cardenas, this sweet old lady from Guatemala. From what she told us, it seems clear that improper tactics are being used to force the tenants out.”

“Improper. But not illegal?”

“No, that’s what’s so frustrating. Contractors have been coming in, ripping things up and then leaving without fixing anything. Basically making the building unlivable. They have perfectly legitimate work orders, approved by the landlord, Armand Tully. He stands to make a nice profit from the sale of the building, so of course he approved them. And then the contractors justify abandoning the job with the claim that it’s an unsafe working environment. The developer, the landlord, and the contractors are all working together, deliberately, to force the tenants out. But, short of one of them admitting that they’re doing it on purpose, there’s no way we can prove it. Each element of the strategy is perfectly legal.” He sounds discouraged, and depressed.

“I’m sorry,” says Karen, feeling inadequate. “I think you’re doing the right thing, I wish there was something I could do.”

“Well, there’s no need for me to ruin your night. Do you want me to go?”

“No, I don’t. I called you tonight because I wanted to talk to you again. But if you’d rather not…”

“Oh, I want to. I’m just afraid I won’t be very good company.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. I’ll tell you if I get sick of you, don’t think I won’t.” But she smiles as she says it, and he must hear the smile in her voice, because he laughs a little.

“All right,” he says, then sighs again. “It was probably stupid to think that the two of us could take on Union Allied. I’ll just have to accept it.”

“No, not stupid,” Karen tells him. “Idealistic. Despite what some people think, they aren’t the same thing. If no one tries to stand up for what’s right, then the world is just fucked.”

“Yes, exactly! But most people don’t seem to see it that way.”

“You don’t seem much like a typical lawyer.”

“So I’ve been told.” There’s a note in his voice she can’t identify, but it doesn’t sound happy.

“In a good way, I mean. The only other lawyers I’ve ever met have been condescending pricks.”

“Meaning I’m not? That’s generous of you, given how this conversation began.”

She waves that away. “Circumstantial. And you apologized very nicely, which condescending pricks don’t do. But what were you thinking when I said you aren’t typical? If you don’t mind telling me. You sounded upset.”

“I don’t mind. You asked me earlier, what would a lawyer know about being broke? Well, I grew up poor. My dad was a boxer. He won his share of fights, but it wasn’t exactly a steady income. Plenty of months I didn’t know if we were going to make rent. I went to Columbia on scholarships and loans.”

“Wow. I bet he’s proud of you.”

“I’m sure he would be, if he were still alive.”

Oh. _Shit._ But he doesn’t sound mad, just a little melancholy.

“And I’m still broke now,” he goes on quickly, before she can say anything. “Foggy and I are living on credit, just trying to keep the lights on long enough to establish ourselves, and get some clients who can afford to pay us. He’s not rich either, his parents own a butcher shop. So you’re right, we’re not very typical for lawyers.”

“Other lawyers give you shit for being poor, don’t they?” Karen realizes, feeling a sudden, fierce protectiveness. “For being blind, too, I’ll bet. Jesus _fucking_ Christ. Fucking _assholes!_ ”

“I can take care of myself, Karen.” He sounds surprised at her vehemence.

“Of course you can, that’s not the point. People are awful.”

“Not all of them,” he answers warmly, and her heart lurches unexpectedly. When did his good opinion become so important to her? She’s not sure, but she knows that it is. She wants him to like her, as much as she likes him.

“I hope it works out for you, I really do,” she tells him. “People doing the right thing deserve to succeed once in a while.”

“And I wish you could find a job you don’t hate. I’d hire you myself, only we can’t afford a secretary.”

“You don’t have a secretary? Who all works at Nelson and Murdock, exactly?”

“Nelson, and Murdock. It’s just the two of us. We don’t really need much secretarial work done anyway, as long as we have so few clients.”

“I suppose not. Well, I appreciate the offer. You don’t even know my qualifications.”

“Well, I hear you’re smart, and talented, and determined,” he says, with a smile in his voice. “You’ve got business training, and you seem to be doing all right at your current job, so you must be good at it. You’re an idealist at heart, even though you’ve had to make some compromises to survive. You’re willing to call someone out if they’re being an asshole, and willing to admit it if you’ve been an asshole yourself. And, uh…” He clears his throat, sounding a little self-conscious. “I really like your voice,” he admits, and she blushes. “I’d be a fool to pass you by.”

Abruptly, Karen’s not so sure he’s still talking about a job offer. “I’m blushing,” she tells him. “Thank you, it’s, um. It’s nice to hear, all that. Let me know when you have an opening, and I’ll consider any reasonable offer.” She’s not sure if she’s just talking about a job, either. The sudden silence makes her wonder if the same thought has occurred to him.

“So, uh, how’d things go with the hot accountant?” he asks a moment later, in a completely different voice.

“Oh, I didn’t go through with it.” Her stomach feels fluttery. Is he trying to find out if she’s seeing anyone? “You got me to question whether it would be worth it—“

“You listened to my advice? After I told you off and hung up on you?”

“It was good advice,” she shrugs. “And then later Trish helped me realize that I only really wanted to because I was unhappy with my life, and I needed to prove something to myself. And then Jim himself demonstrated that I definitely made the right decision.” She tells him what she’d told Trish about her conversation with Jim.

He makes a sound somewhere between appalled and disgusted, like someone just farted at a funeral. “I don’t know which is worse, that he assumed your period is the only possible reason for you to turn him down, or that he presumed to tell you what kind of birth control to use. Or that his sole criteria for choosing birth control is maximizing your sexual availability. Gah.”

“Wow, I’m impressed. Most of the guys I know wouldn’t have thought he was that bad, or at least wouldn’t have spotted _all_ the different ways he was being gross. You nailed it.”

“I know the type,” he answers. “You meet a lot of them in law school.”

“I bet,” she says, trying to think of a subtle way to ask about his own personal life. Is he involved with anyone?

A buzz at her door startles her. _That’s right,_ she thinks, _It’s pizza night._ Trish must be downstairs. Is it that late already?

“Matt, I’m sorry, I’m going to have to go in a minute.”

“Company? I heard the buzz.”

“It’s Trish. I forgot she was coming over tonight. Hang on…” she goes to the buzzer by the door, verifies that it’s Trish outside, and buzzes her into the building. “Okay, she’ll be here in a minute. I want us to keep in touch, is that all right with you?”

“Yes, definitely.”

“Good. Do you text?”

“I can, sure. But I prefer to call. If I’m going to be listening to a disembodied voice either way, I’d much rather listen to yours than my text reader. Do you mind phone calls?”

“No, not really. And we’ve already established that I like your voice, too…which reminds me, I should change your name in my contacts, now that I know your actual name.”

“You already had me in your contacts? Under…Sexy Voice?”

“…Yes.”

He bursts out laughing, just like he did the first time she called him that. She likes his laugh even more now that she’s gotten to know him better.

“Sexy Voice, yourself. Have a good night, Karen, I’m really glad you called.”

“Me, too.” A knock sounds on her door. “There’s Trish. Good night, Matt.”

———————————————

Two days later, there’s a major upheaval at work. Voices are raised among the upper management. Doors are slammed, rumors fly, and the secretaries gather around the coffee maker to speculate. No one seems to know what’s happening, but everyone is reacting to the tension in the air.

“Darcy, what the hell is going on?” Karen asks. 

Darcy looks around, and whispers in Karen’s ear. “You remember what I said about Brinkley?” Karen nods. His wife is having an affair. “Well, he just found out who it is. Cassidy.”

“Whoa. His own assistant?”

“Mmmm hmmm. Cassidy’s being tossed out on his ear even as we speak.”

“Can Brinkley do that? Just summarily fire him?”

Darcy shrugs. “He’s doing it, I don’t see HR stopping him. If Cassidy doesn’t leave willingly, security will throw him out. He’ll be lucky if they let him pack up his stuff first. Brinkley’s out for blood, Cassidy’s hypothetical legal rights mean jack shit at the moment. Brinkley better not have any shady secrets of his own, though. A good executive assistant knows where _all_ the bodies are buried, and Cassidy's damn good.”

Karen frowns, an idea forming in her mind. She hurries back to her desk and grabs a sheet of paper. _Nelson and Murdock, attorneys_ , she writes. She has no idea where their office is. She does a quick online search, but finds nothing. _Hell’s Kitchen?_ she writes. _They represent the tenants in Armand Tully’s building._ She hesitates before adding Matt’s personal phone number, but it’s all she has by way of contact information. She hopes Matt won’t mind, if it brings him a client.

She folds up the paper and hurries back to the coffee corner, just in time to see Cassidy heading for the exit, followed by security. He wears a murderous expression and carries a box full of personal possessions.

“Let me get the door for you,” she offers, stepping forward, and manages to slip her note into his jacket pocket. He barely glances at her as he goes out the door.

———————————————

Karen spends that day and the next resisting the urge to call Matt. She has no idea if Cassidy will call, and she doesn’t want to get his hopes up. Best not to talk to him at all for the moment, so she won’t be tempted to tell him what she did.

Instead, she thinks about the lack of any information about Nelson and Murdock online. They really should have a website. How hard would it be to set one up? And how much would hosting cost them? To keep her mind occupied, she starts doing research. She knows she lacks the coding knowledge to build a site from the ground up, but there are plenty of other options. Lots of online site builders offer free trials, and many ways to customize a basic, pre-made template.

She gets so engrossed in her work that she’s late for her usual lunch break, and Darcy comes looking for her.

“What are you working on? Website design?” she asks, looking over Karen’s shoulder.

“I needed something for my Self-Directed Achievement,” she answers casually. She’s not ready to tell Darcy that she wants to make a website for the hot baby lawyers, especially since she hasn’t told _them_ yet. “And you know, I’m really getting interested. It’s kind of fun.”

Darcy nods thoughtfully. “It’s not a bad skill to have, if you ever move on from this place. I should really start thinking of my SDA as a chance to beef up my resume, instead of a complete waste of my time. But nothing is interesting enough to skip lunch for, come on.” And she drags Karen off to the break room.

That evening, just after work, her phone rings.

“Karen?” Matt sounds excited. “Did you send us a client?”

“Did he call you? Oh, good! I wasn’t sure if he would, so I didn’t want to say anything.”

“He called, he came to the office, and we’ve spent the afternoon talking to him. Apparently he found a note in his pocket with our name on it, and he thought it might have come from the secretary who held the door for him.”

“And does he have a case?”

“Well, he certainly thinks he does. He was not very forthcoming about why he was fired, but he claims he’s owed severance pay regardless. If he has that in writing, then yeah, he’s got a case. We’ll know for sure once he’s dug up the paperwork from when he was hired.”

“If it’s any help, the word at the office is that he was sleeping with his boss’s wife.”

“The termination is unrelated to his performance of his job duties, then. That could absolutely be relevant, thank you.” She hears a voice in the background, then Matt says, muffled, “Sleeping with his boss’s wife.”

“Is that Foggy?” Karen asks. “Are you still at work?”

“Yes. We’ve got lots to do, Cassidy gave us all kinds of information. And not just about his firing, either.” Matt sounds excited again. “He’s very bitter against Union Allied right now, and since you helpfully told him that we represent Tully’s tenants…”

“Oh! Does he know something you can use? I hoped he might, executive assistants know all the dirty secrets.”

“Is that why you sent him to us?” He sounds surprised, and pleased.

“Partly. Part of it was just, I didn’t know if his firing was legal, and I happen to know a lawyer who needs some paying clients. But yeah, I did hope that he could help with your other case. Can he?”

“Well. He had plenty to say, but I’m not sure how much of it can be proved. We’re looking into our options. If the sale of the building can be delayed, that would buy us some time. It’s a chance, at least, which is more than we had yesterday.”

More muffled voices, and then: “Foggy wants to talk to you. Do you mind?”

“Not at all, put him on.”

“Hey there, mystery lady!” says a new voice. “So you’re the pretty secretary who sent us this client?”

“What makes you think I’m pretty?” she asks, amused.

“Well, that’s what Cassidy called you, and if he’s sleeping with his boss’s wife then he’s clearly more influenced by beauty than by common sense. So I trust his opinion. How do you and Matt know each other? We were just at Union Allied the other day, and he never mentioned knowing anyone there.”

“He hasn’t told you about me?”

“No he has not, and I’m dying of curiosity. It’s not like him,” he goes on, in a very pointed way that is presumably aimed at Matt, “not to tell me he’s met a beautiful woman.”

Karen laughs. “I actually haven’t told my best friend about him yet, either. It’s kind of an embarrassing story.”

“Embarrassing to Matt, or to you?”

“Me,” she says. In the background hears Matt say, “To me. Don’t interrogate her, Foggy.”

“All right, all right. Karen? It’s Karen, right? Thank you very much for the referral. It’s not every day that someone sends us a client to make a case against her own employer. I can see why Matt likes you.” Karen’s stomach feels fluttery again.

“Foggy! Give me that,” says Matt, followed by brief, muffled sounds suggesting a struggle for possession of the phone, and then Matt’s voice in her ear.

“You’re not going to get into trouble for this, are you, Karen? Foggy’s right, we’re going after your employer.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. No one else knows I slipped Cassidy that note, and I doubt anyone will wonder. Half the office knows you two are the lawyers for Tully’s tenants, thanks to Thompson bringing you in so she could sneer at you in person. She’s got only herself to blame, if Cassidy knew exactly who to go to for payback. And you know, it’s worth a little risk if it helps your sweet old ladies stay in their homes.”

“Karen…I don’t know what to say.” His voice is soft, and Karen’t heart turns over in her chest. But whatever he might have said to her, if Foggy weren’t there listening, goes unsaid.

“I shouldn’t keep you from your work,” she says quickly, trying to ignore the way her heart is pounding. “But let me know how it goes, all right?”

“Yes, I will,” he replies eagerly. “I’ll call you soon. And thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. And you can go ahead and tell Foggy how we met, if you want. I don’t mind.” She wants, more and more every time they talk, to be part of his life. And that means being known to his friends. But is that what he wants?

“Well, it _is_ embarrassing. But it’s time he knew about you.” His voice is warm, and she smiles.

He calls again the following evening.

“No news on the case yet, that’s not why I called. Karen, can we meet? In person? Do you want to?” He sounds nervous, stumbling over his words in a way she’s never heard from him before.

“Yes!” she exclaims, grinning broadly. “Yes, I want to. The sooner the better.” Does he mean a date? Or just a friendly meeting of friends?

“Really? That’s a relief. I’ve wanted to meet you ever since our second conversation.”

“Me too! But I wasn’t sure if you did, and every time we talk, we get interrupted, so I never asked…”

“And we’re going to get interrupted again, as soon as Foggy gets back here with our take-out. So now’s my chance to talk to you privately.”

“Did you tell him how we met?”

“The whole story. He said, and I quote, ‘Dude, that’s adorable, just ask her out already.’ And then he offered to go pick up dinner by himself.”

 _He’s asking her out._ Her heart has really _got_ to stop doing that, it’s distracting. “You’re working late again?”

“Yes. But after tonight, I should be able to keep to a normal schedule. You said the sooner the better, is tomorrow too short notice?”

“Tomorrow’s fine. Where should we meet? I don’t even know where your office is.”

He tells her, and after some discussion they agree to meet for drinks after work, at a bar roughly halfway between their workplaces. Drinks is always safe for a first date—if it goes well they can go on to dinner, and it’s a minimal waste of time if it doesn’t. Which would be incredibly disappointing, but it never hurts to be prepared for the worst.

———————————————

She’s late getting off work the next day, and calls him as she hurries down the street.

“I’m on my way, I had to finish typing up some meeting minutes.”

“I’m almost there, I’ll buy drinks and find us a table. What would you like?” She tells him, and hurries on.

The bar is already fairly crowded when she arrives, but she looks over the tables and spots him in a corner.

“Matt, hi.” She slides into the chair across from him, and touches his arm.

“Hi.” A smile lights up his face, and he reaches out to squeeze her hand. His fingers brush her wrist, and the jumble of bracelets there, and he pauses, curious but hesitant.

“Go ahead,” she tells him, pushing her hand toward him, and he smiles again and takes her hand in both of his. His fingertips move gently over her bracelets, feeling the shapes and textures of the various beads and chains. When they touch her skin she tingles, her heart thumping in her ears.

“There’s a strict dress code at work,” she tells him, “so my accessories are the only way I can express myself. They haven’t started regulating bracelets yet, but they probably will eventually.”

“That would be a shame. I like them.” God, he has a nice smile. This is the first real chance she’s had to look at him, she only got a brief glimpse that day at work. She had thought then that he looked good, but now he looks even better. He’s relaxed, unlike the last time she saw him—his jacket unbuttoned, his necktie loosened a bit. There’s a shadow of stubble on his jaw, and this close she can see that his dark glasses have a tinge of red to them. His cane, evidently a collapsible one, sits on the table beside his drink.

He finishes his examination of her bracelets and sits back.

“Oh, Trish says hello,” she says. Trish had actually said _He’s hot, he’s a lawyer but not an asshole, and you’re not fucking yet? What are you waiting for?_ but that’s more than Karen needs to tell him just yet.

He smiles. “She approves of me, then?”

“She’s glad that I’ve finally met someone nice, and she hopes everything works out,” Karen answers, paraphrasing freely. “Those aren’t her exact words, but she’s very cynical and she cusses even more than I do. Within those parameters, yes, she approves of you.” She sips her drink. “How was your day?”

“It was good. Productive. Cassidy is definitely owed severance pay, and it should be simple enough to get it. The company won’t want to risk a lawsuit, just because one senior executive has a personal grudge.”

“So that’s a win for Nelson and Murdock. And the other case?”

“Cassidy’s going to tell a judge what he told us, and we’ll try to get an injunction to stop the sale of the building, pending further investigation. It might come to criminal charges, if Cassidy can back up his claims. But even if he can’t, an injunction might be enough. Someone may get cold feet, once they know the sale’s been blocked due to suspicion of collusion. Schemes like theirs need everyone on board to work, so I’m hoping that an injunction will convince one of them—my guess would be the contractors, they have the least to gain—that it isn’t worth it. They were probably assured there’d be no trouble, and now we’re making trouble.”

He grins, and Karen says, “Good,” emphatically.

“Heeeeey, gorgeous,” says a new voice just then, too loud and too close. Karen turns, irritated, and sees a man standing beside her chair, looking her over with obvious interest. When she looks up he gives her a confident smile, and continues, “I thought you and your brother here looked like you could use a little company.”

Her eyes narrow. “He’s not my brother,” she informs him coldly. “He’s my date.”

Too late, she realizes it’s just the response he was hoping for, as he smirks and says, “Yeah, your _blind_ date, amirite?” He grins, like he thinks he just said something incredibly clever.

Matt’s sitting perfectly still, his smile gone, one fist clenched. The same fierce protectiveness she felt when he told her about being poor surges through her again. How _dare_ this asshole make fun of him?

She turns back to the intruder, and says, in the flattest, most unimpressed voice she can muster up, “He’s blind, you’re right. Well-spotted, you must be very proud.” She lets her anger color her tone as she continues, “For your information, he is also a lawyer, he graduated with honors from Columbia, and he is _spectacular_ in bed. But oh, gosh, you can _see._ Clearly I’d be much better off with you, what the hell was I thinking?”

The man flushes. “Fucking cunt,” he mutters.

“You bet I am,” she answers. “But not fucking you.” He flips her off and walks away.

There’s the ghost of a smile on Matt’s face, but uncertainty too. She takes his hands, unclenching his fist and curling her fingers around his.

“I know that sounded like I’m some kind of trophy hunter, but I’m not, I promise. Those were just the attributes I figured would matter the most to him.”

His face clears. “He smelled like Axe body spray and Jagermeister,” he comments, wrinkling his nose, and Karen takes that for agreement with her own assessment.

“Right? A guy like that isn’t going to care about your kindness, or your sense of humor, or the fact that you care more about doing what’s right than getting rich. All the real reasons why I’m here with _you,_ and not some idiot just like him.” Matt smiles, a little shyly. “Now admittedly, I was guessing about one or two things.”

“Well, I really did graduate with honors. And, um.” He gives her a mischievous grin. “I appreciate the vote of confidence in my…other skills.”

She laughs, that grin getting into her bloodstream and making her breathe a little faster. “Oh, I have no doubt you’re a better lover than he is. Self-centered in life equals self-centered in bed, in my experience.”

“Well, thank you for defending my honor. It was a beautiful thing to witness.” He lets go of one hand and picks up his glass, holding it out until she picks up her own and clinks it against his.

“You’re very welcome.” He still holds her other hand, and his thumb brushing over her knuckles sends sparks shooting along her nerve endings.

“Well, what do you think?” he asks after a moment. “Will you have dinner with me?”

“Yes, I’d love to,” she answers. “But not here. Too noisy.” It’s been gradually getting louder as more and more people arrive.

“Agreed. Let’s go.” He unfolds his cane, and they make their way to the door. Once they’re outside, he says, “We’ve never talked about food. What do you like?”

He looks a little anxious, and she quickly reassures him. “Nothing fancy, you don’t need to try and impress me. Just good food, someplace where we don’t have to shout to hear each other.”

“How about Mexican?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. I know just the place.”

He leads the way to a small, brightly lit taqueria. The woman behind the counter appears to know him, greeting him in Spanish. He answers in the same language, and orders his food. When he turns to Karen for her choice, she makes her own order in Spanish, and he smiles.

"I didn't know you speak Spanish."

"I didn't know you do, either."

They take their tacos and churros to a table in the corner, and he takes off his glasses and tucks them in his shirt pocket. His whole face looks different without them—almost vulnerable, as if he’s taken off a mask. His eyes are brown.

The food is excellent. “I never knew this place was here,” Karen comments, “but I’m definitely going to remember it.”

“Do you know this area?”

“Not the immediate neighborhood. I live—“ she stops to get her bearings—“Nearly a mile from here. But this is close enough that it’s still good to know about.”

“I’m glad you like it. I can’t really comment on the decor, but I know the food is good.”

The decor is, in fact, basically nonexistent. Cheap, ugly tables and chairs, looking even worse in the glare of the fluorescent lights overhead. But she doesn’t say so.

“It’s really good,” she agrees, and squeezes his hand. But only for a moment, as they can’t really hold hands and eat tacos at the same time. A shame, really. His face lights up again at her touch, just as it had before in the bar, and now that she can see his eyes that smile is breathtaking.

It makes her want to keep touching him, and see how many other ways she can make him smile. But she puts those thoughts firmly aside, and tells him her idea.

“Matt, you and Foggy should have a website. When I wrote that note for Cassidy I didn’t know where your office was, or the phone number—I hope you don’t mind that I gave him yours.”

“It’s fine. As you say, it’s all you had.”

“Well, I did try to find more. I googled Nelson and Murdock, and there was _nothing_. Clients need to be able to find you.”

Matt nods, frowning. “You’re right. But I don’t know how to go about setting up a site, and I’m pretty sure Foggy doesn’t, either. It sounds expensive.”

“It can be. But it doesn’t have to be. You have to pay someone to actually host the site, but that’s not much. What’s expensive is paying a developer to build the site. But you don’t need to do that.” And she tells him about all the research she’s done in the last three days. “I can make you a website,” she finishes. “It won’t be as good as a professionally made one, but at least it would be something. And you can upgrade to something better later on, when you can afford it.”

He looks a little stunned. “You would do that? Make an entire website for someone you just met last month? For a firm you know next to nothing about?”

“Well, I would need to learn more about the firm, you’re right. And you should talk it over with Foggy. I wanted to tell you about it so you can think it over, I’m not asking you to say yes or no right now.”

He seems interested, but still reluctant. “Anything you can make us would be better than not having a site at all. But it sounds like a lot of work. Are you sure you want to?”

“It’ll be a challenge,” she admits. “But I could use a challenge. My job is tedious and unfulfilling, remember? I want to help you.”

“We can’t pay you anything.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” she retorts.

“No, I know. I wasn’t suggesting…It just doesn’t seem right, to ask you to do something like this for free.” He dips a churro into chocolate sauce, frowning. “This our first date, Karen. The first of many, I hope. And here we are, talking about putting you to work for my business. It feels like taking advantage.”

He looks serious, and stubborn. Karen had never thought before that stubbornness was sexy, but here she is, staring like a lovestruck teenager, her heart skipping at the way he’d said _The first of many, I hope._

She pulls herself together and takes his hand. “What would you do, if it were the other way around?” she asks. “What if I were trying to do something good, something that you believed in that could help a lot of people, and you could make me a tool that would help me do it?”

“I would do it, of course.” He admits defeat with a smile, and a resigned sigh. “You already know exactly how to get around my scruples. Should I be worried?”

“Depends on what kinds of things you’re going to have scruples about,” she answers with a grin. “I promise to use my powers for good.”

He grins back, his eyes crinkling at the corners. It really is unfair how attractive he is. “I’ll talk to Foggy. You should, too. And if at any point you decide it’s more than you want to take on, just say so. You’ve made an incredibly generous offer, don’t feel like you have to do it if it becomes a burden.”

She nods. “That’s fair. I’ll keep on with my research, and we’ll both talk to Foggy.” She munches on a churro, wondering if she should ask, for Darcy’s benefit, whether Foggy is single. Better talk to Darcy first. And she can ask Foggy herself, now that she’s going to be meeting him soon.

Matt picks up a napkin and carefully wipes his hands. He reaches for her hand again, sliding his fingers up to her wrist and touching her bracelets.

“Karen,” he says hesitantly. “I know this might sound weird, and you don’t have to say yes. But would it be all right with you if I touch your face?”

It is, she reflects, probably too soon in their relationship for her to blurt out _Yes, please, you can touch me anywhere you want._

Instead, she answers, “Sure, it’s all right. I’ll come around.” She moves her chair around to his side of the table, telling herself firmly, _He just wants to know what you look like. Keep it together._

He turns his chair so they’re facing each other, his legs bracketing hers. “I hope that didn’t sound like a cheesy line,” he says. “It’s not just an excuse to touch you, I’m not—“

“Matt. It’s okay. I’m sure there are blind people in the world who would use it as a pick-up line, but I know you’re not doing that.” She takes his hands and brings them up to cup her cheeks, then drops her own hands into her lap. “Go ahead.”

His fingers move gently over her face, starting at her forehead. When he touches her eyebrows she closes her eyes, and feels his fingertips ghost over her eyelids. Then down, feeling the shape of her nose, sliding across her cheekbones, passing in front of her ears, tracing the line of her jaw to her chin. Lower still, gliding down her neck, than back up to her mouth. Her lips part a little as he touches them, and she can’t help her sudden intake of breath. _He specifically said this is not a come-on,_ she scolds herself. But there’s no help for it. His fingers stroking over her lips are sparking heat inside her, and all she can do is fist her hands in the fabric of her skirt and resist the urge to catch his finger between her teeth.

She opens her eyes and looks at his face. His expression is intent and serious, but there’s a definite flush on his cheeks. She smiles slightly, glad to know she’s not the only one affected. He feels her lips curve, and smiles back. Then his fingers are sliding up the sides of her face to her ears, and on up to her hair. He leans forward, his hands moving over her head, gently touching the barrette at the back, running down the length of her hair to the ends.

She hadn’t realized how intimate this would feel, his light, gentle touch making her skin tingle pleasantly. When he’s finished, and draws his hands back, she has to repress a sigh of disappointment.

His expression has turned a little sheepish, and she asks, “What is it? You look embarrassed.”

“I _am_ embarrassed,” he answers. “I said I wasn’t coming on to you. But, well…I really want to kiss you.”

“Oh!” she says happily. “Well. That makes two of us, then.”

He smiles, relieved, and brings one hand back up to her cheek. Leaning forward, he presses his lips to hers.

The kiss is gentle, tentative at first. His lips are soft and warm, his other hand firm on her waist. She wants to press herself closer to him, but can’t, seated as they are in two chairs. But she reaches a hand to his face, feeling stubble slide rough across her palm as she slides her fingers into his hair. He makes a small, contented sound.

Both of them mindful of the taqueria’s other customers, they keep things sweet and slow, with just a suggestion of something more in the way Matt’s hand slides up her side to rest on the band of her bra, then curves around her back until his fingers are touching the clasp. She smiles against his lips, placing her own free hand high on his thigh and rubbing her thumb back and forth along his inseam.

He breathes in sharply through his nose and deepens the kiss just a little, his tongue gently brushing along her lips. She opens slightly, and just the tip of his tongue slips inside, softly teasing the inside of her lips. She tastes a faint hint of chocolate and cinnamon as her whole body flushes with warmth, her heart pounding.

They pull apart reluctantly, smiling and a little breathless.

“Oh, I like that,” she whispers, pressing her forehead against his.

"So do I,” he whispers back. He kisses her cheek, and she quickly turns her head to capture his lips again. He laughs, giving her several quick, small kisses before he pulls away again.

“Do you need to get home soon?” he asks.

“I’m in no hurry,” she replies. She really doesn’t want the evening to be over yet.

They sit silent for a moment, his hand still on her bra clasp, hers still on his thigh.

“May I walk you home?” he asks softly.

“Yes, absolutely,” she answers.

He gives her another heart-stopping smile, and they stand and head for the door. He takes her arm once they’re outside, instead of unfolding his cane, and they walk down the street together, arm in arm, toward home.

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a lawyer, and I have no idea if the legal stuff in this story is at all plausible. But I wanted to present at least the possibility of a happy outcome for Mrs. Cardenas. I hope you liked it!


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